


Shattered Glass

by Misanagi



Series: Masterminds [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, Gen, High School, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/pseuds/Misanagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is not always a nice place, and sometimes bad things happen to good people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta reading.

Quatre tugged at his tie. He hated the damn thing but it was part of the school uniform so there was really nothing he could do but wear it. He couldn't afford to get more detentions just for breaking the dress code. Since the beginning of the year Quatre had been having disagreements with the history teacher, Mr. Shore. The man liked to humiliate students when they couldn't remember a date or a name, insulting them in front of the class. Quatre didn't really get along that well with the other students, he wasn't popular, and he had only one friend. Still, he didn't like watching the teacher pick on the students, and he had been very vocal about it. Luckily, history was one of Quatre's favorite subjects so his grades hadn't suffered, but he had paid for his boldness with many hours of detention.

His father wasn't impressed. Quatre had tried to explain the situation but the older Winner wouldn't listen. For him it was unacceptable that his only son and heir would behave in a manner so unfitting. Mr. Winner was a very busy man, he hardly spent any time home, and lately all that time had been devoted to arguing with Quatre about his immature behavior. Quatre was only thirteen and he felt like his father wanted him to be forty instead of a teenager. The last few weeks had been tense. Quatre and his father had been fighting almost nonstop, and no matter how much Iria tried to pacify them, both of the Winner males were very stubborn and neither was ready to give up. Mr. Winner had even said the words 'boarding school' a few times. Quatre hadn't yielded but, truthfully, there was nothing he feared more than being sent away.

The car arrived at the driveway. Quatre opened the passenger door and got inside. "Good morning, Daniel."

"Good morning, Mr. Quatre." Daniel tilted his hat and nodded in greeting. "We are a bit late again, I see."

Quatre buckled the seatbelt. "Breakfast with Father took longer than expected. But I'm sure you'll manage to get me there on time."

Daniel grinned and pulled out of the driveway. "You know, your father wouldn't approve of me breaking the speed limit."

"Well, he doesn't approve of many things; one of them is tardiness."

They'd had this conversation almost every morning. Quatre always left late for school and Daniel always managed to get him there on time. Daniel was a young man; he had been working for the Winners for a year. Saving up to marry his girlfriend, or so he had told Quatre. He had never met her but Daniel talked about her all the time.

"Well, you won't be late if I can help it, Mr. Quatre." Daniel smirked at him.

Glass shattered and Daniel's head was thrown back, blood spilling all around. Quatre realized that he had heard a shot; a shot that had hit Daniel. For what seemed like an eternity, but was probably just a few seconds, Quatre stared. Unable to do anything but look at the blood, at Daniel's broken face that just moments before had been smirking at him.

Quatre blinked, and he was able to pry his eyes away from Daniel, and look ahead, to where the shot had come from. The glass was so shattered that he couldn't see anything but blurred forms. Blurred forms that were coming towards them extremely fast. _'No. They are still. We are moving.'_

Gripping the wheel was a mechanical act. Quatre tried to steady the car, moving away from whatever was ahead of him, whatever had shot Daniel. But he couldn't see. The seatbelt was choking him, and the car was moving from side to side. The wheel was covered with blood. Quatre lost his grip. There was another loud sound and Quatre was thrown towards the window. He could only see red, and then his eyes closed.

He took a deep breath. He could smell blood, so much blood. A loud whistling was pounding in his ears, something sharp was digging into his forehead and his whole midsection hurt, as if he was being crushed by something. But the car wasn't in motion. It had stopped.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to realize that he was staring at the glove compartment. His head was resting on the side window and everything seemed to be at a weird angle.

_'The car isn't upright anymore.'_

The car was resting on the passenger side. Quatre raised his head slowly, feeling the muscles of his neck ache, and his vision blurred for a moment. He moved his left hand to his forehead slowly, and brushed it gently. A few broken pieces of glass fell, and Quatre brought his hand back to his line of vision. It was covered in blood.

_'Blood, so much blood.'_

Forgetting about the pain in his neck, Quatre turned his head sharply to look up. He wanted to shut his eyes but he couldn't. Again he found himself only staring. Daniel's limp body was hanging by his seatbelt; the car was covered in red and glass. A small drop of blood landed just below Quatre's eye.

'__Just one drop when everything is so red.'

One drop that broke the dream and hit Quatre with reality. Someone had attacked them, and had shot Daniel. That someone was probably still out there.

Quatre could feel the tears coming. His eyes were stinging, and all he wanted was to give in; just close his eyes and cry, hoping that things would be better when he finally opened them. He allowed himself that moment of weakness and then pushed it away. With shaky hands, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Without its support Quatre fell on the side window. He managed to get into a kneeling position. If he crawled to the back of the car he might be able to open the left backdoor and get out. He would need a way to get Daniel out too. Even if his rational part denied it, Quatre still hoped that Daniel was alive.

_'I need help.'_

There was no way Quatre would be able to get Daniel out of the car by himself. He didn't know how to treat the wounds; he could only try to stop the bleeding.

_'So much blood.'_

Quatre shook his head and forced himself to focus. His backpack was beside the glove compartment. He grabbed one of the handles and pulled at the bag, marveling at how his hands hadn't stopped shaking. The cellphone was in the front pocket and it was fairly easy to find. Quatre watched the phone shake in his hand. His fingers left red prints on the panel.

"911, emergency response. What's your emergency?"

There were voices outside. They were screaming. Quatre couldn't see them but he knew they where coming. Whoever had done this was coming and he was running out of time. "My driver was shot." He was amazed that his voice sounded so steady while his body was shaking so badly.

"Is he breathing?"

They were trying to open the left side door but it wasn't working. Someone cursed, and then there was a loud crack as something sharp connected with the window. Pieces of glass fell on Quatre and he covered his head with his arms. "I need help," he whispered. His voice wasn't controlled anymore, and his breathing was fast and heavy.

"What's your location?"

There was a shadow in front of the windshield. Quatre couldn't see through the shattered glass, but he knew there was someone there. "Somewhere on Wellford Street, between fifth and twelve." A loud crash and the windshield broke. Quatre covered his face with his hands, felling his skin sting as some pieces cut him. He was out of time.

Rough arms grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out of the car. Quatre tried to fight. He kicked his legs and twisted his arms, hoping to get free, to maybe make a run for it. There was another curse, and then Quatre could feel another pair of hands holding him back. He was trapped.

Someone grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. The sun was shining brightly and it blinded him, but Quatre could still see the man in front of him. He was about forty, with green eyes, a thick mustache and a wrinkled skin. "Yeah, that's him," said the man, and Quatre's hair was released.

"What's this?" another voice said, and Quatre felt the cellphone being ripped from his hand. "Son of a bitch! He called 911." The phone landed on the ground with a thud, breaking in two.

The man with the mustache was in front of Quatre again. "Stupid kid!" He backhanded him. Quatre gasped and stopped fighting. "Tie him up. Quick!"

His hands were secured behind his back with handcuffs. A man dragged him by the short chain of the cuffs and Quatre was forced to run awkwardly to keep himself from falling.

There were five of them, including the one who had hit him; they were taking him to a dirty old Cadillac parked on the side of the road. One of them opened the trunk and Quatre could feel himself pale. He started to fight again but it was useless.

He was shoved forcibly into the trunk; the lid hit his knees when they closed it, and Quatre was left in darkness.

* * *

Derham Winner read the same paragraph for the third time. He was having trouble concentrating that morning, and it seemed that he was getting nowhere with work. He had a meeting in about twenty minutes and he hadn't finished reading the proposal yet. That was unacceptable. Normally Derham liked to read things with enough time to go over them at least twice before discussing them, but the proposal had been handed in late and he hadn't been able to absorb all the information as quickly as usual.

It was very important to keep the work problems separated from the family problems. Things were more efficient that way, and efficiency was the key to a successful company. However, Derham seemed to be breaking his own rule. His arguments with Quatre were getting more frequent. Whenever they saw each other they would end up fighting about one thing or another. If Quatrine were still alive, maybe things would be different. Quatre had never had a mother and maybe that was the reason why he rebelled so much, why he couldn't accept his place and behave. Derham was a busy man. His company kept him away from home and he knew that he had missed a lot of his children's lives because of that. Iria, however, had known her mother. Even if only for five years, she had memories of Quatrine, memories Quatre lacked.

Derham dropped the proposal on the desk. He wouldn't be able to read it, he was too distracted.

Iria hadn't been such a rebellious teenager. She had always been focused on what she wanted and was a model student. She would be going to medical school next year, and Derham would be left alone with Quatre. He felt like he and his son were living in two different worlds, and Iria was the only bridge connecting them.

The intercom buzzer interrupted his thoughts. His secretary's voice filled the previously silent room. "Mister Winner, there are some police officers here to see you. They say it's urgent."

"Please let them in."

The office door opened so fast that Derham didn't have time to ponder about the reasons that had brought the police to his office. There were two of them, and they weren't wearing uniforms. That was enough to alert Derham that whatever business they had with him was important. Derham stood up and greeted them formally from behind his desk. "Please take a seat."

The one with the long hair looked at his companion expectantly. The other, slightly older man, just looked at Derham and approached the desk slowly. "I'm Detective Richardson and this is Detective Marquise. Mr. Winner, I'm afraid we have some bad news."

Derham nodded and waited for Richardson to elaborate. He ignored the different scenarios that went through his head. There was no use in making speculations before he had all the facts. Trying to solve problems without enough information was an exercise in futility.

"There was a call to 911 this morning at around 8 am, notifying a shooting which left at least one person injured. The local police checked it and found a BMW knocked over the side of the road. The driver was dead." Richardson paused for a moment and Derham held his breath. "Mr. Winner, we believe that your son has been kidnapped."

Derham sagged in his chair. All decorum was forgotten. He couldn't think of what was the right way to act. He let out the breath he had been holding. Putting his elbows on the desk, he rested his head in his hands, and pressed his lips into a thin line.

"We are here to assist you anyway we can," continued Richardson, "and hopefully return your son."

_'Quatre.'_ When Derham had last seen him this morning they had been having another argument. Quatre had gotten himself into trouble in school again, being disrespectful to a teacher. Derham had refused to hear his son's reasons and had left the table saying that they would talk when Quatre had reflected on his behavior. Derham knew that he shouldn't let his anger take over a discussion but he had never been able to control himself where Quatre was concerned. The way he saw it he had two choices. He could either blame himself, or he could be strong for Quatre.

Clearing his throat, Derham sat up straight, and looked into Richardson's eyes. "You have my full cooperation, Detective, and all the Winner resources at your disposal. In exchange, I expect your best efforts to rescue my son."

Richardson looked surprised for a moment but then he nodded at Derham and took the seat previously offered. "We assume the kidnappers want money, so they'll probably be contacting you in the next few hours. We don't know what means they'll use, so keep the phone lines open and check your email regularly."

Marquise also took a seat beside Richardson. "We've found that kidnappers tend to use email to make their ransom demands more frequently, maybe thinking that it will be harder to trace."

Derham nodded. "Excuse me a moment," he told the detectives, and then pressed his intercom switch. "Mary, I need you to cancel all my appointments and hold all my business calls." He paused for a moment. "If someone calls but refuses to identify himself, forward the call to my cell. I'll be going home soon, but please inform my home staff that they should also forward all calls to my cellphone until I get there. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll take care of it." If she was surprised by the strange instructions, she didn't show it.

"One last thing. Send Yuan for Iria. Tell him to bring her home, and that I'll contact him in a moment on his cellphone." Derham wanted her home and he knew he could trust Yuan to get her there safely.

After cutting the communication, Derham turned back to the detectives. "Do you have any leads?"

"Not yet, but we do believe that whoever did this has been following your son for a while," replied Richardson. "We believe the attack was too well executed to have been done without the proper intel."

Closing his hands into fists, Derham gave the men in front of him a hard look. "You think it was an inside job?"

Richardson shook his head. "We don't have enough evidence yet. So far, all we can do is wait."

Gathering his things, Derham got up. "If we are done here, I think it's best if I head home."

Both police officers stood up. "We are coming with you," said Richardson. "It's important that we are there when you get the ransom demand."

Derham didn't answer and just headed for the parking lot, knowing that they would follow. He walked with a straight posture, nodded at his employees, and displayed perfect decorum. It wasn't until he reached his car that he allowed a couple of tears to fall.

* * *

As soon as the bell rang, Wufei gathered up his books and headed for the exit. Most of the students stayed and talked for a while with their friends, and maybe went to get a soda after the end of classes. Wufei, however, slipped out of the classroom unnoticed. He was mostly ignored by the other students. In fact, he only had one friend, and since Quatre hadn't been in school today, Wufei found no reason to stay there any longer.

It was quite weird that Quatre had been absent. The last time Wufei remember Quatre missing a day of school was when he had gotten chickenpox and the doctor had forbade him to step outside his house. Quatre had issues with missing school. Many times Wufei had tried to convince his friend that going to school with a fever wasn't a necessity, but Quatre would hear none of it. If Quatre didn't go to school his father would think he was irresponsible and immature, all those things that teenagers were supposed to be but Quatre wasn't allowed.

Wufei and Quatre had become best friends almost since the moment the Chang family had visited the Winner household for the first time. That had been eight years ago. With his father working as Mr. Winner's right hand, Wufei and Quatre saw each other constantly, and their friendship had grown rapidly. Over the years, Wufei had witnessed more confrontations between Quatre and his father that he would have liked. He was always supportive of Quatre without trying to take sides. However one thing was for sure, Quatre had been born into a role and as much as he hated it, he wanted to live up to his father's expectations.

That was why it was so weird for Quatre not to have been at school. Wufei had talked to him yesterday, and as far as he could tell everything was fine. After not having seen his friend in the morning, Wufei had tried to call Quatre's cell, but there had been no answer.

Stepping outside the school, Wufei stopped a cab and got inside. He had no intention of riding the bus today. For some reason he felt that it was important for him to get home as soon as possible. Wufei wasn't one to believe in hunches, and he rarely got them. Facts were a much more reliable source. However, whatever was pulling him home was strong.

The drive was silent. Wufei kept his eyes on the window, watching the other cars and the people on the sidewalk. When the cab pulled up on his driveway, Wufei paid the driver and quickly got out. As soon as he opened the door, he knew something was wrong.

His father was sitting in the living room, staring at the door as if he was waiting for him. Normally, Wufei's dad didn't get home before nightfall. As Winner Enterprises' vice president, he kept almost the same crazy hours as Quatre's father did. For Chang Yuan to be home in the middle of the afternoon something very important must have happened.

"Father." The word left Wufei's mouth in a tone he'd never heard himself use before. It sounded shaky, and hesitant. Wufei took a couple of steps towards his father but stopped before he reached the living room, and waited.

"Sit down, Wufei. I need to tell you something."

Wufei took a seat on the sofa, his eyes still fixed on his father.

His father looked him. Eyes firm, showing Wufei that he respected him, but there was also something soft, which Wufei knew it meant that his father had something difficult to say. "Quatre was kidnapped this morning."

"What!?" Wufei stood up and walked to his father, waiting for him to say that it was a joke, that it wasn't true. But Wufei's father never lied, and he would never joke about something so important.

His father stood up. "The police are trying to find him, but they don't know anything yet."

Wufei nodded. His father started to say something but Wufei wasn't listening anymore. Terrible thoughts were going through his head; Quatre was his best friend, his only friend. He didn't deserve to be kidnapped. Quatre's father would surely do anything to get him back, but that didn't mean that the kidnappers would return Quatre unharmed, or even return him at all. Wufei shook his head. This was too much. "I need to be alone." He mumbled and walked slowly to his room, leaving his father behind. For the first time in his life Wufei was scared, really scared.

* * *

Quatre shivered. He pulled his knees to his chest and did his best to put his arms around them, with the uncomfortable cuffs still digging into his skin. He moved closer to the wall, facing it and hoping that the corner would cut the wind entering through the glassless window.

It was dark. The sun had gone down a while ago leaving him again in total obscurity. There wasn't a bulb on the ceiling or in the bathroom. The only visible thing in the room was the small line of light that could be seen under the door that separated his room from the living room, where the kidnappers were. Quatre stared at the light. He was exhausted but he couldn't sleep. The events of the day kept rushing back to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He didn't know how long the drive had taken. At first, Quatre hadn't been able do anything but shake in the dark, his mind going back to the images of the blood covered car. He'd felt that he couldn't breathe, so he opened his mouth, taking deep and desperate gasps, but he'd still felt like he was asphyxiating. Then something in his mind clicked. He'd remembered how when he was younger he had problems every time he ran, getting tired way sooner that any of his classmates. Wufei had said that it was because he didn't breathe properly, and then he had taught Quatre how to do it.

_'Breathe in through your nose, and breathe out through your mouth.'_

Quatre had tried to banish all the dark images of his mind. The trunk was dark but he'd still closed his eyes, and concentrated on the memory of Wufei's voice.

_'Take normal breaths, not too deep or too shallow.'_

He'd pictured himself running. Quatre liked to jog, so he'd tried to imagine himself running on the school track, with the wind hitting his face.

_'Keep the breathing regular. Trying to breathe faster will only tire you sooner.'_

The air in the trunk hadn't been cool, but Quatre had been able to breathe properly again. He'd concentrated on his breathing the rest of the way, trying hard to think only of the mechanical exercise and keeping his fears away, even if it was only for a moment.

He'd only noticed that the car had come to a stop when the trunk was opened and he could see light from behind his closed eyelids. It was then that he'd realized that they had arrived to wherever the kidnappers were taking him, and that it was time to face reality again.

Two men had taken Quatre out of the trunk. They weren't in the city anymore. There were woods all around, a dirty road, and a small old house. The men had dragged Quatre into the house. They passed the kitchen, and walked into the living room. It was furnished only with a couch, a couple of chairs, a table and a TV. Quatre had been pushed through another door into a bare room. There wasn't a single piece of furniture there, the walls were dirty, a small window in the upper right corner with bars but no glass was the only source of light and a door on the far wall had turned out to be the bathroom.

As soon as they had entered the room, the kidnappers had pushed Quatre against a wall, and forced him to sit on the floor.

"Stay still, kid, and you won't be harmed," had said the one with the mustache, which Quatre had learnt was the one in charge.

A newspaper was put on his lap, resting on his stomach, and then another man had entered the room with a digital camera. They all walked away from the wall, all but one. He was a redheaded man, who didn't look older than thirty. He had been the one who had found Quatre's phone.

The redhead had then taken a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Quatre's head. Quatre had gasped, and stopped breathing; his eyes on the gun and so afraid that he couldn't even scream.

"Look at the camera." Quatre didn't know who had spoken, and he didn't dare to turn and look. He was paralyzed looking at the gun, and feeling completely vulnerable.

"Eyes to the front, kid!" had said the redhead, and then he had used the gun to roughly turn Quatre's head. The gun had still been pressed at his temple. "Smile."

After they had taken their pictures, they had left, and Quatre hadn't seen them since. He could still hear them outside, talking and laughing, while he curled in a corner trying to keep warm and not to think of the hunger and thirst.

Not long after the kidnappers had left him alone, Quatre had sat on his hands and then passed each leg between his arms so his hands were cuffed in front of him instead of behind. He still wasn't free, and it was uncomfortable, but it was way better than before. He had then stood up and walked around the room, trying to find a way out. The door which he had come through was locked from the outside; the window, while it had no glass, had steel bars, and was also too high. The bathroom had no windows, no light bulb, nothing beside a sink and a toilet, and no water. Quatre hopped they wouldn't keep him there for too long.

During the day he had distracted himself by reading the morning paper the kidnappers had left with him. It wasn't something he usually did, but anything was better that being left alone with his thoughts. He needed to keep himself distracted. However, the sun had come down, and since there wasn't a light bulb in the room, Quatre was left in darkness.

He had tried to sleep but it had turned out to be a bad idea. Every time he was near unconsciousness terrible images assaulted him. Some were based on the truth; the car, Daniel, the men, the gun. Others were wicked fantasies created by his mind. Those were even worse.

_'Father will help me.'_

Quatre's mind kept repeating the phrase again and again, like a litany, the only thing that would keep his hopes up. The kidnappers surely wanted money. That's why they had taken him, to force his father to pay the ransom. The pictures would probably be sent to his father, to show that he was still alive. Now, all Quatre had to do was wait. His father would pay the ransom, and the kidnappers would let him go, and the nightmare would be over.

Flashes of him going back home, seeing his family, Wufei, his school mates who probably wouldn't even care, and the police probably asking questions, flew through Quatre's mind. His father had probably contacted the police. They had probably found the car, and maybe Daniel was still alive. Quatre didn't think so but he kept hoping that maybe he was mistaken.

Realization hit Quatre, as fast as if he had been hit by a moving train. Quatre had seen the kidnappers' faces. He could identify them...

They were going to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

Iria Winner had managed to sleep at most a couple of hours. It was around three in the morning when her father sent her to bed. She had argued that she couldn't sleep, but he had said that it was important for her to get at least some rest. In other circumstances she would have probably argued more but his father was already under enough stress, and she wanted to help, even if the only way she could do it was by going to her room for a couple of hours.

At first, she had laid in bed with her eyes open, starting at the glowing star stickers on the ceiling. Bit by bit her eyes had closed and she had managed to drift into an unsettling sleep, filled with images she couldn't remember when she woke, but that she knew were disturbing. When she decided that she had had enough, it was barely five in the morning.

She headed for the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower before going to the kitchen to make sure her father got something to eat. There was no doubt in Iria's mind that he had been up all night.

Standing under the warm water, Iria closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was exhausted, both physical and mentally. When her mother had died someone had told Iria that it was important to cry, because crying cleaned the troubled soul. She didn't remember who had said the words; Iria had been very little at the time, and she didn't even understand what the person had tried to say. Now, she could. However, as much as she wanted to cry, Iria seemed to had spent all her tears, when Yuan had come to get her at school to tell her that her little brother had been kidnapped.

She had cried all the way back home. Yuan had taken her, since he didn't think she was in any state to drive, and had promised that someone would get her car from the school later. When she had turned sixteen, his father had giving her permission to drive one of the cars to school. It wasn't technically hers but she was the only one who used it.

It would have been a lot easier to take her. She drove alone to school every day, but the kidnappers had still targeted Quatre. Why? If they had taken her, Quatre would be fine and Daniel would still be alive. She shuddered despite the hot water falling on her body.

Iria got out of the shower and dressed quickly. The sun was rising. Briefly she wondered if Quatre could see the sunrise from wherever he was.

The staff was up. When Iria walked into the kitchen she found that Clarita had already fed her father and the cops staying at the house, and had a plate ready for her. Everyone in the Winner house was upset. They were mourning for Daniel and worried for Quatre. It was a sad Saturday for everyone.

The food was as good as always, but Iria found that she had lost her appetite. She forced herself to eat a couple of slices of toast and drink a little juice. She thanked Clarita and went to the living room, where she had left her father and the policemen a few hours before.

Everyone looked tired. Her father was sitting on one of the chairs, with his computer in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. The two detectives were sitting on the sofa, going over some data, and talking quietly.

A hand was placed on Iria's shoulder. "You look tired. You should sleep a bit longer."

She turned and gave Yuan a small smile. "I can't sleep anymore. How's Wufei?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Yuan gave her a tired look. "He's locked himself in his room. He wanted to come here, but I told him that there was nothing he could to. I promised to call if we have any news."

Iria nodded. "He must be fri—"

"I think I got a mail from them." Her father's voice filled the room interrupting all the conversations. It was firm and steady; his business voice.

The detectives got up from the sofa, and Yuan and Iria walked towards her father too. He was staring at his inbox, the mouse hovering over the last received mail. It hadn't been opened yet.

When Iria's father saw that the detectives were behind him, he clicked on the link. The page was blank for a moment and then a picture started to download. The first thing that could be seen was a dirty white wall. Iria held her breath. She wanted to look away but she couldn't move her eyes away from the screen. She blinked, and when she fixed her eyes on the screen again the picture had finished downloading.

Her hands flew to her mouth to stop the scream from getting out. Quatre was sitting against the wall, his hands behind his back and a newspaper on his lap. Someone was holding a gun against his head. His face was covered with dry blood, and more stains could be seen on his blazer and pants. He was looking straight at the camera; his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes wide open. There was a note below the picture but Iria couldn't read it. Her vision had blurred. She was crying.

Taking a couple of steps away from the computer, she turned her eyes to the carpet. She didn't want to see that horrible picture anymore.

"All that blood..." her father whispered. His voice wasn't firm anymore.

"I don't think it's his," said one of the detectives. "It's probably the driver's."

"That's yesterday's paper," said the other detective. "May I?" He gestured to the computer. Iria's father nodded and step away, letting the detective do his job.

Iria sat on the sofa and waited. Her father joined her a few moments later. They didn't talk. They just waited, and comforted each other, silently. She leaned her head on her father's shoulder and fell asleep.

Later, she was awakened by the detective's voice.

"I think I've found him."

* * *

Zechs Marquise looked at his watch for what seemed the tenth time in the last hour. The sun had already gone down but they were supposed to wait until it was a quarter plus ten to move, and there were still a few minutes left.

Everything had been planned minutes after Zechs had managed to triangulate the location from where the mail had been sent. The kidnappers were probably amateurs. They hadn't encrypted the information well enough and Zechs had been able to trace the mail. Besides, their ransom demands had been sloppy at best: do not contact the police, ten million or your kid dies, we'll contact you in the morning with the drop off information.

Thankfully, the kidnapers had decided to give the family a day to gather the large amount of money, giving the police enough time to stage a rescue operation. They had decided to wait until nightfall to take the kidnappers by surprise and use the cover of the night to their advantage.

The police had sent a small team ahead to gather some intel. There were five kidnappers, all armed. They had the boy held in a small cottage a few minutes outside the city. The cottage had a kitchen, two rooms and two bathrooms. The boy was held in the main room, while the kidnappers stayed in the kitchen and the living room.

The plan was simple. Surround the house, cut the electricity, and take the enemy by surprise. Then a small team would get the boy to the vehicles waiting a few feet away while the rest secured the kidnappers. Standard procedure.

Only five minutes to go.

Zechs took a deep breath and put on his mask and night vision glasses. He was dressed completely in black, and now with the mask covering his face and hair he was practically invisible in the dark moonless night.

He took his gun out of his holster and grasped it with both hands. The command to move came softly in his earpiece, and Zechs moved closer to the cottage, slowly and stealthy. He stood beside the door; three men in front of him and three men beside him. Another team would be entering though the backdoor. Zechs kept his eyes on the small light that could be seen from under the door. As soon as it went off it would be time to move.

Zechs kicked the door open and pointed his gun forward. The room was dark, and the kidnappers probably could only see the red point of the lasers in the policemen's guns, aiming at them.

"Police! Freeze!" yelled every policeman, stopping any movement the kidnappers might want to make.

"You are surrounded." Zechs stated simply. "Don't move."

He waited for the kidnappers to raise their hands in the air before moving inside the room, and allowing more agents to enter. "Slowly put your guns on the floor."

The kidnappers kept moving their heads from side to side, clearly disoriented by the lack of light. However, they seemed to understand that they were outnumbered and slowly put their guns in the floor.

"Put your hands behind your head, and kick the guns away from you."

As soon as the kidnappers obeyed the order, the lights in the cottage came back on. The kidnappers blinked, trying to get used to the light, and then, suddenly, one of them dashed through the side door.

Someone fired but the man was already gone. Zechs gave chase and walked through the door just in time to see the redheaded man holding a knife at the hostage's throat. He fired.

The bullet hit the man in the head. He didn't have time to gasp or scream. The body collapsed on top of the hostage.

"The target is down."

Zechs' voice sounded cold, even to himself. He had just taken a life. Why wasn't he more disturbed? His hands didn't shake when he pushed the body away from the hostage.

The boy looked at him. There wasn't any fear in his eyes. They seemed dull, absent, almost dead. Zechs crouched in front of the boy and helped him to his feet. "Can you walk?" he asked.

A nod was his only reply. Zechs held the boy by the arm, steadying him, and guided him out. When they reached the living room a couple of policemen walked towards them. Zechs shook his head. "I've got him," and he repeated "I've got him."

They both walked silently towards the cars. The boy stumbled a couple of times but Zechs was there to steady him. He helped the boy into the car. He realized that he still had his mask on, so he took it off and gave the boy a small smile. Zechs then called for someone to drive them to the hospital.

"Let me take care of these," Zechs said, motioning to the handcuffs. He got the lock picks out of his pocket and in a few moments he had managed to get the cuffs open.

"Thank you," the boy whispered, not looking at Zechs.

That's when Zechs noticed that the boy was bleeding. Apparently the man had managed to cut him after all. Gently, Zechs wiped the blood with a cotton ball he took out of the med kid in the car, and inspected the wound. Thankfully it wasn't deep.

Tyler, their driver, arrived at that moment to take them to the hospital.

Zechs handed the boy a blanket. "Here, you must be cold."

The boy took the blanket slowly and wrapped it around himself. He thanked Zechs again and then turned to look at the window with those hollowed eyes. The boy's reactions weren't normal. Zechs had been doing this work for a while and the victims were always overwhelmed by emotions when they were rescued. They were afraid at first since they didn't feel like they could trust anyone, but when they realized that they could, they held on to their rescuers. Many men had broken down in tears after being rescued, and yet here was this boy, staring outside with emotionless eyes; a boy who hadn't as much as gasped when Zechs had killed that man right in front of him.

Zechs had to suppress the urge to swear when he realized what had happened. The boy was in shock. He had seen too much and his emotions had decided to shut down, numbing him as a mechanism of protection.

"You killed him." The boy spoke the words without much inflection in his voice, but this time he was looking at Zechs.

"Yes," replied Zechs, keeping eye contact.

"He was going to kill me."

"Yes," repeated Zechs.

"How's Daniel?"

Zechs remained quiet for a moment until he realized that Daniel was the boy's driver. "He died. I'm sorry."

"They killed him," said the boy, still with that emotionless voice.

"Yes."

"Like you killed him." There was no accusation in the tone.

"Yes."

The boy again turned to the window and there was silence for a moment. "They both died because of me. They killed Daniel to hurt me, just like you killed that man to save me. Two lives. I'm not worth it."

Zechs could feel a knot on his throat. He didn't know what to say, but from the way the boy kept looking at the window Zechs knew that he wasn't expecting an answer.

The rest of the drive to the hospital was silent.

Tyler parked beside an ambulance. A couple of orderlies were in front of the car, with a wheelchair, waiting to take the boy inside. Zechs went into the hospital with them. He wasn't going to leave the boy alone. Not just yet.

Apparently someone had taken the time to call the family. Mr. Winner and his daughter were sitting in the waiting room of the E.R. As soon as they saw the boy they got up quickly and ran towards him. The girl was crying and Zechs could swear that the father was trying hard to contain the tears. They both hugged and kissed the boy, telling him many things that Zechs didn't pay attention to. The boy, however, remained impassive, mumbling a word or two but with the same dead tone.

The doctors soon took the boy to examine him and the family went to sit in the waiting room again. Zechs remained standing, leaning on a wall. He had decided to wait until he knew the boy's condition before going back to the station. The paperwork could wait a bit.

Twenty minutes later the doctors came back. They informed them that the boy was fine. His injuries were superficial, a few scrapes and bruises probably from the car crash, and the cut on his throat hadn't been deep enough to be serious, but would probably scar. They were keeping the boy on observation for a day or two because he was dehydrated. The kidnappers apparently hadn't bothered for feed him or even give him any water during the forty hours they had held him. One thing was clear; they hadn't planned on keeping the boy alive for much longer.

The boy would be fine. That was all Zechs needed to know. His wounds would heal, and with time, his mind would too.

Zechs left the hospital, thinking of maybe visiting the boy in a couple of days. It had been a long day and there was still paperwork to be done.

* * *

The room was quiet. Quatre could hear muffled voices outside, probably the nurses or doctors. His father had gone to the police station, to sort some things out. The kidnappers had been all caught, except for the man that policeman, Zechs Marquise, had killed. His father had said that the kidnappers had been following him for some time. New security would need to be arranged. Quatre didn't want to think about it.

Iria was reading quietly beside him. They hadn't talked much. She had tried to make conversation, but Quatre wasn't in the mood for it, and after a while, his short answers discouraged her.

He had spent the time looking at the window. From his bed he could only see the sky and some trees, but anything was better than talking or sleeping. They had given him something when he had arrived at the hospital the night before. The nurse had said it was something to make him relax. It wasn't true. Quatre had fallen into a troubled sleep and couldn't wake up. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.

Quatre's thoughts seemed to be dispersed since last night. He couldn't focus on anything for too long, not even on the images he had tried so hard to banish before. It was weird. He felt that everything had happened to someone else, and he was just a spectator, watching from behind a shattered glass.

When he had arrived to the hospital, and his father and Iria had rushed to him, Quatre hadn't been able to do anything but stare. Some part of him told him that he should be doing something, smiling, hugging them, crying... but he couldn't. He had just stared, unable to do all the things he should.

He hadn't cried. Not when the man had come with the knife to kill him or when they had told him that Daniel was dead. He was sad, but why couldn't he cry?

In the last couple of days Quatre had seen things he would rather forget, and he knew that everything after that point would be different. Then why wasn't he more upset? It was as if his own mind had betrayed him. Nothing felt real anymore.

"Quatre, I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want me to get you something?" Iria was smiling slightly but her eyes still showed how worried she was.

"No, thank you."

Her smile got a little wider. It was a fake smile. She closed the book and laid it on the chair before getting up and heading for the door. She gave Quatre one last look before leaving.

During the time he had been held, Quatre had wanted nothing more than to go back home, and see his family. However, he felt more comfortable with Iria out of the room. He didn't want to be alone, but yet he didn't want her with him either. Things were so confusing.

Quatre could hear the door opening, but he didn't turn. His moment of solitude had been way too short.

"Quatre?" The voice was hesitant, and that made Quatre turn around quickly. He had never heard Wufei hesitate.

"You look terrible," Wufei said. The tone was sincere.

Wufei slowly walked closer to Quatre until he was just beside him, his knees touching the mattress.

Quatre looked at him. Wufei didn't look good either. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. He looked pale, and his hair, while not messy, wasn't as neatly combed as usually. Quatre wanted to say something; give Wufei a smile and assure him that everything was fine, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie to his best friend.

"I..." Wufei was looking down at his feet. He was holding his hands together, and he was silent for a moment. "Fuck, Quatre. I was scared."

Wufei didn't swear. Something had to be very wrong for him to do that. Quatre tried to look at him but Wufei's head was still bowed. "I was scared too," Quatre admitted.

There was no reply.

"Wufei?" Quatre put a hand on Wufei's arm. That's when he noticed that Wufei was shaking slightly, and that he was hiding his face because he was crying. But Wufei never cried.

"Look at me, 'Fei." Quatre could feel his eyes watering. "I'm here now."

Slowly, Wufei raised his head. There were tears running down his face.

Quatre closed his eyes and let the tears fall. He held on to Wufei's arm, and moments later Wufei sat in the bed next to him. Whatever emotions Quatre had been hiding from came back to him in a rush. He closed his eyes and let himself cry, all the time holding his best friend's hand.

Yes, what happened had changed everything, and nothing would ever be the same. However, Quatre wouldn't let it define him. He was done hiding, and it was time to face his demons and start fighting back. It would take time but he was going to be fine. After all, life stopped for no one, and Quatre's wasn't about to be left behind.


End file.
